Las Vegas Sun

March 28, 2024

The art of Facebook un-friending

The Weekly’s newest writer muses on culling the digital herd

Erin Ryan's Facebook page

Looking to pare down your large list of Facebook friends? Take a cue from Weekly writer Erin Ryan, who recently chopped her list by 57.

A She-Ra thermos, a pressed bouquet of noxious weeds and statements for every utility bill I have ever paid. So this is my life.

Or at least it was a couple weeks ago, when I was packing up all of my Earthly goods in anticipation of moving more than 600 miles from the City of Trees—Boise—to America’s Fastest-Growing City (since 1994)—Henderson. In addition to the 30-degree jump in temperature, I am doing my best to adjust to the fake grass and gritty water, homicidal pigeons and suicidal jackrabbits, and the singular magic of the Strip’s gleam crushing into the desert sunset. As alien as it feels, this place is mesmerizing.

I wanted to start my exploration with a clean slate. That meant gleefully shredding all of those utility statements and their ilk while watching Judge Marilyn Milian do a little rough justice. About 10 full trash bags into the process, the fever took hold, the urge to find and annihilate every shred of baggage. Three donated couches, a dining set and many boxes of flotsam later, my attention turned from physical to digital.

My Facebook account was in need of some … editing, and not in terms of my privacy settings (maximum) or the personal content in my posts (minimum). I needed to cull my list of friends. Before I get into the particulars of the carnage, let’s reflect on the Encarta definition of “cull.”

1. To remove an inferior thing or person from a larger group

2. To remove an animal, especially a sick or weak one, from a herd or flock

3. A reduction of the numbers of an animal population achieved by killing some of its members

Inferior, sick, weak? None of these describe the 57 people who ended up on my chopping block. In fact, they deserve some healthy antonyms, like smart, cool, toothsome even. From the day I opened my Facebook account, I only accepted friend requests from actual friends. But when it came time to post my big news, that I was moving to Nevada for a sweet job opportunity, I hesitated. And the cryptic announcement I posted only lived a minute before I deleted it.

Not that many of my 181 friends would care. And that’s the point. I realized that while these are individuals I genuinely like and have some history with, only a fraction know who I really am or give a crap what’s happening in my head or in my world. The group I would tell if I got engaged or wrangled a book deal is not the same group I would tell I had three couches up for grabs in my front yard.

So who did I click into the ether? A choir buddy from high school; my 2007 marathon coach; the older brother of a friend from college; some sorority sisters; a former coworker; a dead ringer for Prince William I met in a London pub 11 years ago (I regret that one a little), and so on until 181 became 124. I doubt any of them will notice I’m gone, provided they ever noticed I was there in the first place.

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